


Twitching

by rukisea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5763742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rukisea/pseuds/rukisea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur reckoned he could get anywhere, in his trusty Honda Civic. He braved downtown London in it, until he ran out of gas. Then he crouched in the backseat, watching the shadows outside lumber by, and wondered how it all went to hell. Prayed he wouldn't be found. Wondered how he ended up in the home of this bright eyed young man, who seemed much too practiced with his halberd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twitching

**Author's Note:**

> My first time in about 6 years picking up writing again - it feels good! Am I using the tags correctly?

Arthur breathed heavily through his nose, fingers blanching white from clawing into the steering wheel of his plush Honda Civic. He swerved. Winced at the horrid _crack_ against the passenger side door. Continued his breathing exercises.

_It's okay, it's okay, pretend it was just...just a projectile thrown by a neighbourhood kid, egging his windows again. A pot plant, for some reason stationed in the middle of a typically busy London road. His nasty coworker from cubicle 3A, who constantly smelled like burnt rubber and onions._

The idea cheered him up, if only slightly.

He knew he shouldn't, but found himself frantically dialling his cellphone to the first number he could reach. Then the next, and the next. Till he'd reached out to practically everyone on his contact list. He received the dial tone and a bit of static each time.

_Shit, shit shit shit shit._

_Shit!_

What was happening?

He swerved again. Didn't swerve quite far enough. Watched the force of the collision clean take off one of his side view mirrors, and couldn't even be bothered to care. What had he been doing, again? Ah, yes. It was lunch break. As usual, he hadn't packed anything. Lunch for Arthur was a lazy drive in weekday London traffic, keeping an eye out for a hot dog stand or if he was feeling fancier, maybe McDonald's.

That's when it happened; he felt the wet _whump_ against the front of his car, slammed on the breaks, and realized with slow horror that he had hit something.

Not something, some **one**.

A million possibilities ran through his head. He debated taking a U-turn straight back to work, and pretending this never happened. He contemplated the jail sentence. Wondered what his family might say. Numbly reached for his cell. Dialled 9-9-9.

Till the car shook, and the - person - he had just run over, staggered back to their feet.

"Oh, god. Are you all right?" Arthur hurriedly rolled down the driver's side window, unbuckling his seat belt. He would usually already be out of the car, begging the other man's forgiveness, but there was something... _off_. Maybe it was the way the man at the front of the car seemed to convulse as he regained his balance. The way his eyelids twitched erratically as his gaze _locked on_ to Arthur.

Arthur rolled up the window.

That's where it started to go wrong, really. People running, screaming. The traffic worsening. Abandoned cars as the street filled with more convulsing people, and Arthur sat in the mayhem, leaned far back in the driver's seat, and recited Bertha Smith's Twenty Breathing Exercises For a Healthier You.

He drove as far as he could, away from the city. Where the roads were too congested, he blasted through parks and sidewalks and a few backyards. The frequency of the convulsing people seemed to decrease as he got deeper into the suburbs, and eventually the sun was setting. The gas warning light had popped up ages ago. And Arthur was going in the opposite direction from home, driving a car covered in blood, feeling like a complete lunatic. Where was he going? He had to get home. Lock himself in. Avoid the convulsing people. Phone Alfred and Matthew. He had no gas. Phone the emergency line, again. Maybe they'd pick up.

He shook those thoughts out of his head, feeling the hysterics creeping up from the cavities of his chest. First, he had to find a gas station that had no convulsing people. Then, he would return home. Go around the city core. Soon, the government would send out their forces to restrain the convulsing people and clean up the streets, and it would be safe to go out again. Then he could phone Alfred and Matthew, because surely they were smart enough to have holed up somewhere safe already, and--

The car sputtered to a stop, rolling smoothly to park at the side of the road.

So much for that plan.

Arthur knew he'd basically been rolling forward on fumes at this point, anyway. But the idea of getting out of the safety of his car made his stomach turn over, especially now that there was only a sliver of light over the horizon. He had made it this far in his car, hadn't he?

He clicked off the battery of his car, allowing his shoulders to relax. On this residential street, far out from London, and nestled in between two lit street lamps, he almost felt stupid for the wild panic from earlier. Surely the commotion had died down by now? Maybe it was a new type of drug, or some sort of planned riot.

_But there had been people - the convulsing people - ripping into peoples' flesh with their teeth._

They were there on this street, too. Distant shadows, contrasting against the residential lights, sparsely scattered but definitely there. Trembling, Arthur crawled into his backseat and sat on the floor, as low as possible so as not to be spotted from any of the windows. It was a tight fit, but the inside of the car door felt solid against his back and the edge of the seat gave him a place to rest his head. Shoving away a strange gnawing in his stomach, he banked on the government sorting everything out by morning, and passed out.


End file.
